


Bruises

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Phryne, Jack plays nursemaid, MFMM Year of Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 12:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: She didn’t often feel this fragile after a fight, but sometimes, once the adrenaline withdrew and she had time to catch up with herself, it would hit her hard. She made a point of not letting anyone see if she could help it.





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeVereWinterton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/gifts).



> This was a response to a prompt by the wonderful DeVereWinterton which by coincidence also worked for this month's quote challenge. The two prompts were:
> 
> 'I'm in my underwear and everything hurts, but I'm OK.'
> 
> and
> 
> “She was there, in the full vigour of her personality, battered but not diminished” Willa Cather, My Antonia
> 
> Thanks as always to the incomparable Firesign23 for rendering this fic legible with her mighty comma knowledge!

There were bruises across her chest where the man had hit her, a sucker punch that had knocked her on her back; luckily it had also knocked her against the table and the pistol he had smacked from her hand was levelled at him before he could follow through. Tomorrow she would claim with false bravado that it had been skill. Right now, blood from the knife slash on her upper arm spattering the white of her lingerie, she was powerfully aware that it had been sheer dumb luck.

She was clean at least; her bath, fortified with tea tree and eucalyptus to ward off infection, was adding a heavy fragrance to the room. Her fingers shook as she attempted to tie her own bandage. She would ask Dot if she had to, but didn’t want to worry her if she could avoid it. It wasn't often that she felt this fragile after a fight, but sometimes, once the adrenaline withdrew and she had time to catch up with herself, it would hit her hard. She made a point of not letting anyone see if she could help it.

There was a thud of heavy footsteps on the stairs and the door slammed open, making her start like a frightened animal. It was Jack, his face was white, taut with fear and anger; clearly news of her little escapade had spread. She breathed out a long, steadying breath. She was in pain, there was a cold, empty hollow in the pit of her stomach, and she didn’t think she had the energy for another fight right now. She would fight though, if she had to. She would always fight.

All it took was one look at her—face pale beneath her dark hair, her armour of confidence, of sex and scent and lipstick, washed away—and his anger dissipated. She looked small, tired, and had flinched at the sound of the door as if afraid. He could see a bloody gash on her arm and red marks across her chest where the brute had struck her.

Jack was suddenly very glad it had been City Central who had picked the man up, he would not like to vouch for his safety had he been in the cells at City South. It broke his heart to see her like this, his warrior goddess so frail, so mortal. Scared as he had been, he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her right now.

“Here, let me.” He sat beside her and took up the bandage she had been fiddling with and bound it tight around her arm. His steady fingers did not falter.

She met his eyes, obviously ready to take him on if he chose this moment to question her actions.

“I didn’t have a choice, if I hadn’t gone after him he would have gotten away. He killed three women, Jack, I couldn’t let it happen.” There was defiance, even through the tears that threatened to spill. She was still fighting, always; sometimes he wondered if she ever truly stopped.

She waited, jaw clenched, ready to defend herself. Waited for him to tell her she had been reckless and selfish and that she could have been killed. Waited for him to tell her all the things she already knew.

“I know.” He pulled her close, his arms gentle around her, careful to avoid the tender spots on her exposed skin. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she lied. He held her closer still, let her relax her weight into him, a silent offer to let her lay down arms and let it all go. Her shoulders started to shake.

Perhaps there would be time later to talk about tactics, about when might be a good time to stop, hold back and wait for backup. Perhaps. Truthfully, she had done tonight exactly what he expected of her, and anger was more than pointless. You might as well rage at the sun for rising, and he would never really want her to change.

They sat together for a long while without speaking; Jack stroked her hair as she sobbed into his chest. Under pain of torture he would never admit to seeing her like this; it would never be a part of their teasing, never mentioned or alluded to in more that a look, a touch, the press of a kiss in a quiet moment that said that they were _more_. More of everything than either of them liked to put into words too often - words being fallible, mutable things, no substitute for action. Gradually the sobs dissipated into hiccups, then gentle breathing and Jack produced a clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket so she could wipe her face.

“We’ve got him. He’s in a cell with a bullet hole in the thigh and a broken nose which probably hurts worse than you do right now. He won’t hurt anyone else, thanks to you.”

He watched in awe and admiration as she righted herself; tears shed, she pushed through the residual fear and mastered her pain. No man, least of all a callous waste of oxygen like Carson would ever conquer her.

“I should talk to Miss Richards, she will want to know her sister’s killer has been apprehended.” She glanced up towards the door, the light catching the dark circles under her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Right now, I want you in bed.”

She smirked at his unintentional double entendre and he rolled his eyes in relief; if she was back to flirting with him she was well on the way to recovery.

“Come on.” Jack nudged her towards the end of the bed but she winced as she moved, the bruises on her chest and legs making themselves known.

“Here, take those off.” He had picked up the tub of arnica that she had set beside the bed but not applied, and was gesturing towards the silk bra and tap pants she was still wearing.

Phryne grinned shamelessly at him, unwilling even now – or especially now – to forgo the joy of watching Jack watch her undress. It was one of the many varied delights of still being alive. She may have exaggerated her movements a little as she wriggled free of her underwear, exposing her breasts to his gaze. Jack looked in equal parts amused, aroused, and exasperated by her antics; it was her favourite expression on him. She extinguished the momentary pang of guilt and grief at the thought that, had things gone otherwise, she might never have seen it again.

It had not gone otherwise. They were both here, and she intended to make the most of it.

Jack scooped a generous measure of the cream onto his fingers and raised his eyebrows at her, relieved to see the mischief return to her eyes, despite the red rims left by her tears.

“Show me where it hurts.”

“Better start with my wrist.” She held her hand out palm down and Jack took it, caressing it with the fingers of his free hand as he examined the red marks against her white skin. He rubbed the cream in gently, careful not to hurt her, brushing a kiss against her knuckles when he was done.

“Hmm, you make a fine nursemaid, Inspector. I think you may have missed your calling.”

“I am a man of many talents Miss Fisher, next?”

“My right leg, just below the knee.”

He nodded, his face serious once again as he slid down the bed, all the better to examine her at close quarters. He spared a lingering and meaningful look for the thatch of dark hair between her thighs, meeting her teasing with a playful smirk. The smile she returned it with was genuine and she felt a huge rush of love for him, for his patience and humour and support. Her single pillar, her well-sung hero.

Jack cupped her calf in his hands, examining the imprint of a man’s boot – intended, no doubt, to kick her off balance. It hadn’t worked, and her returning blow had been the origin of his broken nose. The kick had broken the skin though, and the bruise around it was a deep red that would shade to purple within a few hours. A tender exploration revealed that the bone underneath was undamaged, so he resumed his nursing duties, smoothing the thick paste over the injury. And if his fingers teased the spot just at the back of the knee that always made Phryne’s breath hitch - just like that - well, she wasn’t complaining, and neither was he.

He moved across to the left leg; the bruise on her calf was smaller but deep, a focused blow, perhaps a weapon of some kind.

“An exceptionally ugly china dog,” she explained, “thankfully it broke on impact.”

Jack rolled his eyes at her poor attempt at humour, his lips quirking at the corners as he concentrated on applying the soothing balm to the wound.

 “And now?” His voice had lowered, although he didn't really have any intention to follow through on this teasing. He was just glad that it seemed to be making her smile again, his wonderful, irrepressible Phryne emerging stronger and more beautiful than ever as she conquered her demons and came back to herself.

She trailed a hand suggestively down between her breasts, more grateful than ever for his willingness to indulge this game. He had looked terrified when he first entered the room and she had been sure he was about to berate her, but instead he had swallowed his terror and helped her to overcome her own.

“Just here, but be gentle.” An unnecessary and an unusual request from her, he simply nodded, all serious jaw and soft eyes, scooping up another dollop of the arnica.

The blow had hit her sternum, and that plus landing on her back had winded her, but it was not the injury that was making her breath catch. The soft touch of Jack’s fingers against her skin was a powerful reminder that she was here, alive and fully intending to stay that way. She felt a growing desire to cement that knowledge firmly in both of their minds.

For all his noble intentions, Jack was beginning to think along the same lines. The arnica was gone, his nursing duties fulfilled. He met her eyes with a question as the hand against her chest strayed slowly towards her bare breast.

She smiled sinfully, arching into his touch and shuddered. It was not a pleasurable shudder. Jack removed his hand at once with a guilty look – he really should work harder at resisting her games.

“I’m sorry, I should let you get some sleep.”

“Stay. Please.”

He barely hesitated, nodding in agreement and rising to remove his clothes so he could join her in the bed. Phryne moved a little stiffly as she got under the covers, lying back to watch Jack undress. It was a delightful sight, and once he realised he had an attentive audience he played up to it, stroking the silk of his tie between his fingers, undoing each button slowly and placing each item carefully in its rightful place before removing the next.

Phryne kept her eyes on him, making quite sure he was watching as she slipped a hand below the sheets to touch herself. Jack shook his head slightly in wonderment. She was lying there, bruised and bandaged and almost certainly more in need of Dot’s care than his right now, but still she was able to turn him inside out with a look, a sigh, the pointed way she bit her lower lip as her hand moved beneath the covers.

“Don’t stop now, Jack. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just get some sleep?” The exaggerated nonchalance in his tone made it quite clear what he expected her answer to be, but he wanted to be sure.

“Oh I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby once I’m done with you, Jack Robinson.”

He rolled his eyes and hmphed, turning his back on her so she wouldn’t see the smug little smirk he couldn’t quite keep off his face. She knew it was there, though. She could practically _hear_ him smirking, damn him.

He hung his trousers in the wardrobe then stripped off his undershirt, letting her enjoy the way the muscles in his back and arms rippled as he moved. He heard a little appreciative hum from Phryne, who had settled in to enjoy the rest of the show. Out of sight, below the silken counterpane, the tip of her finger was tracing a slow, steady circle around her clitoris, indulging herself, savouring the feel of her own body, a little battered maybe but still whole and defiantly alive, despite the best attempts of her assailant.

Jack turned back around to face her, fastidiously placing the singlet in the laundry basket before straightening up and moving closer to the bed. Phryne’s eyes raked greedily over his exposed torso, her finger speeding up slightly when she reached the line of hair that trailed down from his navel, disappearing beneath the white cotton band of his undershorts which were entirely failing to conceal his growing interest in the situation.

She licked her lips, motioning him to remove them. He stepped closer, turning his back again so she could get a view of his arse as he slipped them off and bent to place them in the basket alongside his singlet. The ache in her limbs persuaded Phryne to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, tempting a sight as he made, all athletic grace and lithe muscle. She wanted her mouth on him, to trace that tempting line of hair down to his cock and swallow him down.

Perhaps when she was a little more recovered.

He turned towards her slowly, eyes dark, his cock already half hard and begging to be touched. Still, she really was in no fit state to do too much work just now.

“Touch yourself.” She sounded greedy; there was something about the ease and confidence he had with his naked self, the only kind of touch he had known for so long – she loved to watch him and he knew it.

Jack smiled at her, slightly smug and far too tempting, as his large hand moved to grip his growing erection, stroking it with slow, practiced movements. His eyes flicked from her face to the movement of her hand under the sheets as she slipped the finger that had been toying with her clit inside herself, then another, her breath coming in shorter gasps as the pleasure built.

“Come here,” she whispered, eyes on his cock, now fully erect under his careful ministrations. He came to stand next to her, still stroking himself for their mutual pleasure as she reached for him, her fingers, wet with her arousal, moving in to trace the line of hair she had been admiring earlier. He removed his hand, making room so she could replace it with her own, the loving touch against his intimate flesh making him clench his jaw, his eyes closing briefly as he focused on the feel of her hand on him.

“Make love to me, Jack.”

There was a vulnerability to the request that took him by surprise. He had almost lost her tonight; lost this wonderful, unexpected connection, this partnership, too rare and wonderful to truly have a name. She felt it too, he could hear it in her voice, see it in the haunted look that hadn’t quite left her eyes despite their games.

“Always,” he promised, disengaging her hand, which had stilled around him, and slipping into the bed to cover her body with his own.

Jack leaned in to press a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet as summer rain, his hands moving to stroke her skin, avoiding the bruises and the bandage. He showed a dedicated appreciation of her breasts first, his palms caressing her curves, his fingers teasing first one nipple, then the other into hard points, then dipping below the sheet to take each one in his mouth. Phryne hummed in satisfaction, his gentle touch warming her, filling her with a feeling of home, of safety; here was the place where she could rest, where she did not need to fight back. It was nothing she ever thought she would need or want, but having it was the most unexpected gift and she treasured it more than she knew how to say.

She let out a little whimper as Jack’s fingers found their way between her legs, and this time the sound was definitely one of pleasure. She was wet and ready for him, their combined attentions leaving her feeling relaxed and willing to wallow in an eternity of his patient, loving caresses. She shut her eyes, focussed on the feel of his fingers as they slid in and out, then swirled up to circle her clit before sinking into her again. Divine. There was something about his focus in bringing her pleasure. She had never known a touch like it.

His free hand cupped her face and her eyes fluttered open to find him watching her, his expression serious.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“It would be worth it.”

He narrowed his eyes in disagreement and she smiled up at him, her fingers reaching up to trace the worry lines between his brows. 

“I’m alright, Jack. I promise.”

He nodded, still not entirely certain he was doing the right thing, but unable to resist the urge to comfort her, to give her whatever she needed. He settled between her thighs, careful to avoid the bruises on her legs as he positioned himself at her entrance; she reached between them to guide him into her, canting her hips slightly to give him access. The movement made the small of her back where she had hit the floor smart a little, but as she had predicted, it was worth it; the feel of Jack filling her gentle and unhurried, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation, the warmth of his body against her, inside her. It was home and love and life and she embraced it with her whole heart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. Wanting to say the words, to see the smile he could never hide when he heard them.

“Phryne,” when he said her name like that, deep and soft and full of sin, it undid her every time. “I love you so much.” Her stomach clenched and she kissed him fierce and deep to keep the tears at bay.

Jack began a gentle rhythm, pressing close, barely withdrawing, his hips rubbing against her swollen clit with every pulse. His strong hands held her, not tight but steady and sure, one in her hair, the other cupping her hip, his fingers stroking along the base of her spine. Phryne felt herself relax, her kisses slowing to match his pace. As tension built in her body her mind calmed, spooling down, no fight left and no fight needed. She held him tight, gripping the smooth skin of his shoulder, feeling the muscles of his arse flex with each steady press into her. It was everything she needed.

She came slowly, not a blinding, screaming fire but a bright, warm flood that seemed to last for hours, washing away the pain and darkness, leaving behind a quiet, comfortable lassitude and a sweet sense of peace. Jack kissed the closed lids of her eyes, speeding up his thrusts slightly then pulling out to spend against the sheets with a sigh of her name. 

He moved to the side, not wanting to put any weight on her and she rolled into him, brushing off his concern in her desire to retain contact, to take the blissful sensation of his skin on hers with her into dreams. She burrowed her head into the damp skin of his neck, breathing him in, never wanting to let him go.

“Jack?” she asked, hesitant but needing to know the answer. “If you had caught up with him first, if he had been at the warehouse rather than the bungalow, would you have done the same?”

“Gone in without backup against an armed man with a history of violence?”

“If it was that or him getting away?”

Jack paused, giving the situation serious consideration. It had not just been a run of the mill thug, the man was pure evil, a vicious little cancer on the city Jack had sworn to protect.

“Yes.” It was a more honest answer than he would have given one of his constables had they been the one to ask, a more honest answer than he would have ever given Rosie for that matter; but Phryne was his partner, in work and in life. She of all people deserved the truth, however unwelcome, and he had long ago abandoned the idea that it was something she needed protecting from.

“Good.” She sounded grateful; it probably shouldn’t have surprised him.

It was exactly what she had expected, and somehow she felt it as a comfort; for all the acerbic comments he had been known to make about her reckless behaviour, here at least they were equally foolhardy. Content with his answer, Phryne wrapped an arm companionably around Jack’s waist and settled in to sleep. He held her close, stroking the unbroken skin of her shoulder above the white cotton of her bandage, and kept a silent vigil against the dark.


End file.
